


Pale Ore

by Ink-and-scales-and-dragons-tales (SingleSingularity)



Series: Musings of a Whispering Root [2]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games), Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:47:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23764828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingleSingularity/pseuds/Ink-and-scales-and-dragons-tales
Summary: One, twoTink, tink, tinkGleam of ore in sparking light,Patter steps and rain alike.
Series: Musings of a Whispering Root [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723924
Kudos: 12





	Pale Ore

**Author's Note:**

> Half character study, half poetry based on personal impressions of the Nailsmith.  
> Comments and constructive thoughts welcome! Requests for studies based on other HK characters may be taken as well.

One, two  
Tink, tink, tink  
Gleam of ore in sparking light,  
Patter steps and rain alike.

The nailmasters are scarce these days  
Few trek to see the things I wreak  
But those who come are intriguing, now  
Made moreso by their ghostly companions.

A tall bug, proud, came in,  
Asked of honing his nail, for he sought combat  
Talked of an arena in our caverns, I had heard of it  
But time had worn at the path in my mind, and I could not direct him.

A shorter, blustering bug came in,  
He claimed he needed no help but  
Gave me his nail to sharpen.  
He was a child, not a nailmaster, this I could tell.  
Who let him into these ruins?  
I feared his demise, but had done all I could.

The third bug was familiar, but from where I recalled him I could not discern.  
He had a presence to him, and a mask resembling the Teacher, and  
He spoke like a learned bug, poised and confident.  
Told me of another small bug he'd met, a silent one  
But with a hunter's eyes, a warrior's stance  
And an old, well worn nail.  
Said he'd sent him my way, and asked I watch for him, and  
I agreed. I had none else to do.

The final visitor to my smithy was the quietest one.  
He made no sound save the clink of setting his nail on my anvil.  
Several times, he returned, each with anything I asked  
In return, the greatest nail ever wrought by my hand formed.  
He told me nothing of his travels, or what he sought in the ruins  
Yet I could see, each trip gave him strength, and  
I could think of no bug better to wield such a fine nail.

At last, the nail can no longer be improved.  
I have nothing left to craft.  
My work is done.


End file.
